


UnAmerican Activities

by ClaraxBarton



Series: AU Alphabet [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Podcast, podcast journalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Dean Winchester hosts the podcast, UnAmerican Activities. His boss has talked him into interviewing a guy who runs a diner in the middle of nowhere, and Dean... kind of wishes he was anywhere else.
Relationships: Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester
Series: AU Alphabet [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685266
Comments: 18
Kudos: 39





	UnAmerican Activities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarahcakes613](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/gifts).



> Yeah, you may have noticed that April AU Alphabet is now just AU Alphabet. No way I'm going to write all of these this month with everything else that has happened, will happen. So instead I'm spreading them out through the rest of the year.

* * *

* * *

As far as shitty assignments went, Dean had had shittier.

That said, Dean had had a rough week, and getting up at the ass crack of dawn and pour himself the strongest coffee his unwanted but much used Keurig could manage before pouring himself into the Impala and driving six hours just to get to the middle of nowhere, was absolutely not Dean’s idea of a good way to spend a day.

But work was work, he supposed - he knew - and his editor had picked this story up and given Dean that look, that wide-eyed look of pleading that didn’t come close to Dean’s little brother’s puppy dog eyes but was still too damn good at convincing Dean to agree to whatever fresh hell was headed his way.

“Please,” Castiel had added, and the guy didn’t say that word often, didn’t make Dean take assignments he didn’t want all that often either, for all that Castiel was Dean’s boss. So…

So Dean was pulling into a dusty parking lot in a dusty town and checking his duffle bag to make sure all of his equipment was in order.

Computer - fully charged - two different microphones, the old school tape recorder that was maybe more for luck these days than anything else but… still always came along on Dean’s gigs.

Dean shouldered the bag, locked the car and surveyed the - shocking - dusty diner at the other end of the empty parking lot.

Guidry’s Cajun Cafe.

The sign is neon, but in the dull daylight it isn’t lit, is instead just washed out milky gray and looks about as invited as the rest of this place.

Purgatory. What a name for a town.

Dean has to actually lift a hand and wipe away his own sneer to achieve a blank, vaguely professional expression.

He rolled his shoulders, absently tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, and strode across the parking lot.

The door to Guidry’s had a bell over it, and it clanged a little off-key jangle when Dean stepped over the threshold. 

As the empty parking lot promised, the diner itself was also empty.

Clean-ish, all of the tables and booths and the counter and fixed stools looking like they hadn’t changed in the last fifty years and had been wiped down with only perfunctory attention in that same span of time. The place was a weird mix of pine paneled walls, black and white patterned tiles and mint green vinyl upholstery. 

Kind of like Pleasantville meets Duck Dynasty, Dean couldn’t help but think.

“Hey, brother”

The voice was warm, gruff, thick with a low-country drawl in even those two words.

And it belonged to a solidly built guy, Dean’s height, with dark hair and a dark beard and bright blue eyes and an open smile and -

And Dean had a type, sure. Fine. 

And this guy was like… that. 

But Dean was a professional.

A professional podcaster, a voice that was a hell of a lot like his father’s whispered to him. Not much of a profession, is it?

Dean shoved it all down - his attraction, his father’s ever-present, never fading memory - and plastered on a smile.

“Hey, man, I’m looking for Benjamin Lafitte.”

“Looks like you found him. But I go by Benny.” The man - Benny - raised an eyebrow, the gesture a teasing warning.

“Benny,” Dean agreed and held out his hand to the guy, who was still behind the counter. “I’m Dean Winchester. You spoke to my editor, Castiel Novak, last week about me coming out to interview you?”

“Yep,” Benny agreed with a nod and a firm grip to Dean’s hand. 

His hand was calloused and warm, just slightly bigger than Dean’s own and -

Dean pulled his hand back and raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, where do you want to do this?”

“Well,” Benny’s drawl was really unfair, “as you can tell it’s a busy time of day. We can probably carve out a spot on the end of the counter, over there, if you want to set up.”

Dean felt his lips twitch. But he nodded and walked over to where Benny had indicated, relieved there was an outlet nearby.

He started to do his setup and Benny poured two cups of coffee and brought them over, sliding one towards Dean.

“Cream and sugar?” Benny asked.

“Just sugar,” Dean said and Benny placed a spoon, napkin and sugar sifted beside the cup. He drank his own black and took a long, thoughtful sip while still watching Dean.

And, as ever, being watched made Dean feel self-conscious.

  
  
  


“People don’t really come to Purgatory for the food, I’m guessing,” Dean pointed out. 

“Well,” Benny’s smirk was lopsided but still gave a flash of bright teeth, “it’s a good thing I didn’t come here for the people then, huh?”

It surprised Dean into a laugh, and he felt some of his equilibrium return.

“What do they come here for?” Dean asked, using the question to test the levels on the microphones.

Benny arched an eyebrow, but spoke into the mic Dean presented to him.

“Hell if I know.”

It was spoken with complete sincerity, but no bitterness and Dean found himself laughing again.

This… might not actually be the worst day ever.

He checked to make sure the mics had picked them up well, adjusted a few things, and nodded.

“Cool. I’m all set… if you are?”

Benny shrugged, took another sip of his coffee, and settled against the counter, one hip pressed to it, body open and turned towards Dean and the front of the diner.

“Sure, sure. If a customer comes in -”

“I can pause it, or use it for background audio, whatever you’re comfortable with,” Dean assured him.

Benny nodded again and gave Dean a smile that was small, but still so damn warm.

“Alright, brother, let’s do this.”

Dean licked his lips and rolled his shoulders again.

He keyed up the mic and leaned forward.

“Hey, folks. I’m Dean Winchester and this is UnAmerican Activities. This week I’m in Purgatory, Louisiana talkin’ to Benny Lafitte. First question, Benny, cherry pie or pecan pie?”

Benny laughed, and Dean kind of shivered, knowing it was going to sound good on tape, knowing it was exactly the way to hook his audience.

“Brother, why’d I have to choose? You ever had cherry-pecan pie?”

The answer, the very idea, shocked Dean.

“No, is that - what?”

Benny laughed again, reached out and gave Dean’s shoulder a squeeze. His blue eyes were practically twinkling.

“When we finish up here, I’ll give you a slice,” he promised.

Dean swallowed hard. Benny’s hand was warm and firm. The thought of pie - cherry-pecan? - just as warm.

“So,” Dean fought the urge to clear his throat, shoved down his nerves and gave Benny his best sympathetic look, “second question. Two years ago you killed Patrick Stafford. Why?”

-o-

* * *

* * *

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Sorry?


End file.
